


the beckoning hand

by zoldnoveny



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: :), Character Study, First Kiss, Goddess Tower (Fire Emblem), M/M, Mention of homophobia + transphobia briefly, Period-Typical Racism, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Relationship Study, Trans Claude von Riegan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22562497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoldnoveny/pseuds/zoldnoveny
Summary: Dedue’s got this natural, calming air about him, and Claude has been soaking up all that serenity like he’s dying for it. He wishes he could break through the film of awkwardness and speak more freely… not that he’s holding himself back, just that he can tell Dedue is a bit strained. Claude thinks he might always be like that, even with Dimitri, which is unfortunate. Suddenly, he desperately, fiercely, wants to make Dedue forget himself. For him to laugh, or at least smile fully.
Relationships: Dedue Molinaro/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 93





	the beckoning hand

**Author's Note:**

> WELL HERE IT IS. ive been pouring my heart and soul into claudue recently and am loving all the unexplored character dynamics.. this is a bit rambly and me just hyperanalyzing their characters but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. that’s me. apologies for the purple prose.

i.

Claude dances with a handful of people before he starts feeling suffocated. Not too shabby, he congratulates himself, because he worked his way through all the girls in his house and started in on a few from others. Some guys, too, to stir the pot. He went for Dimitri last, who flushed bright red up to his ears and waved dismissively in refusal, claiming it would be improper. It’s charming, how easily predictable he is, so Claude acquises smoothly, dipping into a bow and winking for goodbye. His throat feels raw like he’s just swallowed sawdust, though he can’t quite name the reason. He was built for events like these; he survives on charismatic social interaction and chances to parade his easy-goingness around for show. But now it feels choked. When he danced with the Professor, earlier, they wrinkled one brow at him in confusion and he’s felt stripped bare since. They are simultaneously the most dense and most perceptive person Claude knows. He’s always left a little unsettled in their wake. 

It’s just that - Claude doesn’t know. Putting on a smile and rolling in the charm is one of his most prized talents; something he knows he can accomplish regardless of circumstance. It’s not as though he’s fundamentally unhappy, and that all of his natural good moods are fabricated - only that he bleeds himself dry. Not even purposefully, it just happens… He’s always held himself to higher standards. Because he doesn’t have a choice otherwise. 

Years ago, one of the various workers at his estate in Leicester told him something that stuck with him. She was a maid, and a weathered older woman that managed to be quite beautiful despite what was obviously many years of hard work. Almayran, having immigrated in her youth. It stung a bit, one of the only people Claude could recognize himself in being hired help, but her presence was large enough to make up for the lack of others. Anyways, in preparation for him leaving for the Officer’s Academy, she told Claude he had a great responsibility. No matter how respectable and worthy he was, he’d always be at a disadvantage. Therefore, he had to be better than everyone else in order to be held in the same regard as them. Work harder and smarter just to be considered equal. And it was his job to do so; to prove everyone that doubted him and those like him wrong.

It would be one thing if they knew, but they don’t. Keeping his heritage a secret has always left a sour taste in his mouth, and it always brings him back to that piece of wisdom and its owner. Somehow he thinks more of his old, Almayran maid than anyone he knew in the country itself - except his parents. He can’t help but feel as though he’s betrayed her by abandoning that responsibility she spoke of. 

Still - he looks different, and sometimes that’s enough. Her words ring true.

Outside, cool air kisses the back of his neck as a breeze whistles. Claude walks mindlessly through the grass, which crunches underfoot with evening frost. The wind kicks up again, and Claude is reminded how cold it gets in Fódlan. 

Before being sure of what direction he’s headed in, the looming silhouette of the Goddess Tower begins to take shape. That’s fine enough, he supposes, starting for the mossy steps. It’s only a short way’s up, but the elevation is enough to offer a unique view of the landscape, beneath the inky, star-dappled sky.

That’s when he sees Dedue. 

It dawns on him then that he was uncharacteristically absent when he asked Dimitri to dance. Not as though he was the type to be cutting a rug on the dancefloor, but he never strayed far from the Prince. Claude hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now it’s odd. Regardless, he offers Dedue a grin in greeting as he joins him on the tower’s balcony.

“Claude.” Dedue’s gaze shifts to watch him, tall as he is. “Good evening.”

Claude widens his smile. “Good evening yourself. What’s got you up here all by your lonesome?”

Claude likes Dedue. A surprising amount, for somehow he only knows in passing. What can he say? He’s a nice guy, loyal (to a fault), and a hell of a fighter. Claude appreciates someone who speaks only when he has something important to say, which he suspects is a skill anyone could stand to learn, but Dedue has long since mastered. Claude also suspects that Dimitri would be a hell of a lot less functional without his vassal there watching over him. Surely, patience could be added to Dedue’s list of virtues. 

Dedue shifts minutely, but enough for Claude to notice. He wears a pinched expression, like he’s uncomfortable but refuses to admit it. Claude doesn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, and feels a little bad.

“Just getting some air, I suppose.” Dedue answers after clearing his throat. 

“Yeah, it’s a bit much in there, isn’t it?” Claude asks, stretching his arms before leaning against the balustrade. 

Dedue’s eyes flicker away. “I confess, I am not fond of… dancing.”

“Is it different, here? Than —“ Claude falters as he realizes where his words are leading.

Still, Dedue does not seem offended. A little wistful, as his gaze trails over the murky horizon. In the dark, his blue eyes are swallowed by shadow, until they look almost black, juxtaposed by long, white eyelashes. “Yes.” He plainly answers. “We danced differently in Duscur.”

_ We do too, in Almayra _ , lingers on the tip of Claude’s tongue. It feels unfair, that he’s pulling even this small scrap of information from Dedue without offering anything in return. It’s not that Claude doesn’t trust him - just that it’s quite a hefty secret to unload on someone he’s never had a conversation with (beyond small talk) (and whatever this is, now.)

“Well, you should at least get one dance in before the night’s through.” Claude turns around so he’s facing Dedue fully, now leaning backward. 

A gust of wind shifts through Dedue’s hair and sends his earrings spinning. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it.”

Claude cannot help but laugh - not  _ at _ Dedue, only at how ridiculously serious he is. “Have you been watching his Princliness at all? He keeps stepping on his partners’ feet. You’d be in good company.”

Dedue’s features shift to accommodate a small smile at the mention of Dimitri. It’s dreadfully predictable, but still, Claude feels his chest clench with -  _ something _ . Anyone with a pair of two seeing eyes and a basic understanding of human sexuality can tell Dedue is hopelessly in love with his Prince. But aforementioned qualifications cut out a good chunk of Garegg Mach’s student population, because Fódlaners have skewed views of sexuality. If a union is incapable of producing a Crest Baby, it’s no good. So same gendered couplings are viewed contemptuously. Therefore, many fail to realize such a thing can even exist. Sexual preference, gender… it’s all held under lock and key, here.

Claude feels bad for Dedue. He tries to avoid pitying anyone on principle, but it’s not like that. Claude recognizes the position Dedue is in and sympathizes. Empathizes. Dedue’s situation is uniquely complicated, considering he and Dimitri’s clearly convoluted relationship. Claude wouldn’t be surprised if Dimitri reciprocated, but he doesn’t think anything could ever happen. Dedue wouldn’t let himself… for better or for worse. But maybe Claude is wrong - it’s not like it’s really his business. 

“Hey, you could dance with me. You can even step on my toes and I won’t get mad.” Claude hears himself say, before it actually registers. Oh.

A muscle in Dedue’s jaw clenches, brow momentarily creasing. His face quickly smooths back into its normal stoicism. “... Please don’t tease me.”

Claude spreads his palms in surrender. “I’m serious! Why, you don’t wanna?” 

Dedue draws a breath in through his teeth, swiftly. “I - I couldn’t.”

“Why’s that?” Claude finds himself stepping in, until he has to crane his head to look up at Dedue. “I know I’m a poor substitute for his Highness, but…”

Perhaps that was too low of a blow.

Dedue sharply looks away, that same muscle in his jaw jumping. “I don’t know what you mean.” He does not make eye contact. 

“Sure.” Claude acquiesces. He steps back to return slumping over the balustrade, front-ways again. He tilts his chin up to look at the stars, gleaming distantly, and finds recognizable constellations with practiced ease. A chill shivers up his spine when a breeze blows. “You know what they say about this tower?” He shifts into a new topic seamlessly. Then, waits for Dedue to respond before barreling ahead.

He gets a small shake of the head.

“If a couple comes here and makes a wish, it’s sure to come true.” He says with a cheeky grin and a wink. “You got anything?”

“Won’t it fail to be realized if I say it aloud?” Dedue asks with a cocked brow.

It takes a second for it to register that Dedue is being  _ smart  _ with him. It’s delightful.

Claude laughs before shrugging noncommittally. “I suppose you’ve got me there.”

Surprisingly, Dedue comes to lean against the balustrade next to him - although relatively far away. Claude realizes then that he feels a lot better than he did when he first walked outside, although it hasn’t been very long since. Like his thoughts have finally managed to untangle and sort themselves out. Dedue’s got this natural, calming air about him, and Claude has been soaking up all that serenity like he’s dying for it. He wishes he could break through the film of awkwardness and speak more freely… not that he’s holding himself back, just that he can tell Dedue is a bit strained. Claude thinks he might always be like that, even with Dimitri, which is unfortunate. Suddenly, he desperately, fiercely, wants to make Dedue forget himself. For him to laugh, or at least smile fully.

“I’m ready.” Dedue says, in that still, deep voice.

Claude’s brows shoot to his hairline in a bit of theatracized surprise. Some of it is real - he didn’t think Dedue would actually go along with it. Well, that’s great, because Claude’s got his wish. What could Dedue’s be? Claude, being naturally curious and introspective, begins to order a list of possibilities in his mind. Most deal with Dimitri at first, but then he feels like that’s too predictable and ventures out.

Maybe he just wants this damned frigid weather to warm up. Not everything has to be so serious. 

Calm quiet envelopes them through layers of whistling wind, and Claude takes that as a sign. Closing his eyes, he tips his chin upward to present his face to the indifferent sky. To the Goddess? A prickling breeze nips his cheeks and blows a ringlet of hair over one eye. 

He makes his wish.

There are a lot of things he could request, if he’s making demands, but that feels unnecessarily intense. Besides, Claude’s made it up to this point on determination and grit alone - he can take the rest of the way the same, and reserve his wishes for little pieces of ephemeral significance. Those moments matter as much as the big ones, since they brick the foundation for later events. Claude is self-aware enough to understand he makes a habit of getting too much in his head, so he actively fights that. He wants Dedue to smile and laugh, and it matters now so why should it cease to matter once this all through with? 

When he opens his eyes and glances to the side, he finds Dedue with his eyes still shut. His brow has smoothed and the hard lines of his face leveled, making him look much younger. His age, then. Moon-pale lashes part as his eyes blink open, then shift to look at Claude.

Claude smiles. “Alright.”

And Dedue, damn him, smiles back. It’s small but honest, and something tightens in Claude’s belly like a pulled bowstring. “Alright.” Dedue says back.

* * *

They walk back to the dance together, Claude filling the air with mindless chatter as they go. He feels weirdly weightless, like he dropped a bunch of stones from his pockets. Dedue walks with his face straight ahead, chin lifted and shoulders squared, but he drops behind Claude a step. Claude keeps slowing his gait to match pace, but Dedue doesn’t let him. What a nasty habit. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Before Claude has a chance to point it out, they’re back.

The hall is buzzing with chatter, warm with commotion and excitement. Sylvain is leaning against a wall and screwing the cap back onto a flask, meaning he succeeded in spiking… something. Evidence of this materializes when Claude spots Dimitri, red in the face and tripping over his feet even moreso than usual. Dedue seems to realize what’s happened the same time Claude does, and immediately starts for his Highness.

Claude reaches out and places a hand on his forearm, rooting him in place. “Wait,” he begins, “I think I promised you a dance.”

Dedue’s gaze pointedly settles on Dimitri’s drunken swaying, and Claude rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. He’ll be fine. Look, Felix’s got him.”

Felix is currently pushing Dimitri forcefully off of the dancefloor with both palms splayed over his back, steering him blindly while he glares daggers at Sylvain across the way. Dedue must be in a good mood, because he offers Claude his second small smile of the night - this time paired with an exhale that’s almost a hinted laugh. Claude feels immediately victorious, even though it’s Dimitri pulling such fond expressions from him. Oh, well. Take what you can get, and all that.

“So? Whaddya say?” Claude tries again. 

Dedue’s next exhale is less of a laugh and more of a surrender. “Very well.”

Obviously, Claude did not expect that to work. He’s immediately alight with a surprising amount of happiness and satisfaction. This whole thing quickly became important to him, enough so that he wonders if all that bull about the Goddess tower really is true, in some capacity. It’s just - in a life composed of sweeping, life-or-death decisions, it’s nice to worry about if a cute boy will accept his hand in a dance.

A cute boy? Oh.

It’s not that he  _ just _ realized Dedue is cute, but referring to him with it as his most defining characteristic implies that Claude is doing a lot more thinking about it than normal. 

He’ll unpack that later. 

Once a new song kicks up, and Dedue’s broad fingers have been delicately laid in Claude’s open palm, they approach the floor. Claude can feel the space around them open and hollow, while people look on and hide whispers behind their hands. He doesn’t have it in him to be ashamed, because all attention is good attention. He wants to do this and he doesn’t give a damn about how it looks. This is the attitude that’s made him approachable and likable for as long as he’s been alive, so he’ll stick by it. People might talk now, but knowing the inconsistencies of adolescent drama, it’ll be forgotten soon enough.

Claude helps Dedue by guiding one big hand to his waist, keeping the other aloft with his own inside it. Uncomfortably, Dedue curls his fingers around Claude’s side, seeming to resist touching him fully. In a sort of assurance that it’s okay, Claude steps in closer, until they’re almost chest to chest. With Seteth out on the prowl, telling students to leave room for the Goddess, it’s a bit of a risky move. Worth it, though, for Dedue’s red ears and the way he shifts his head down to look at Claude.

“Each time I take a step forward, take a step back in the same direction.” Claude offers.

“I know that much.” Dedue shifts his gaze away.

“Well, usually you’d be leading, so,” he winks, “Consider it a gift.”

The music swells and other couples begin to move, Claude taking the initiative and swaying forward on light feet. Dedue follows back, his steps heavy and uneven, but perfectly suitable. When Claude strides to one side, Dedue does the same, and when Claude shifts backward, Dedue falls into his previous place. They drift about the floor in sweeping, grand movements, Dedue quickly picking up on the methodology of the art and lightening his sturdy footfalls. He moves his weight to his toes, easing off his heels, and closes his hands around Claude, clutching his waist and actively holding his hand. It only took a few moments for the tension to unravel from his shoulders, and now he moves perfectly in sync with the music. 

Feeling emboldened by his protege’s new skill, Claude pulls Dedue flush, chest to chest, before spinning him out. He laughs all the while, a happy glow spreading through his chest. After pulling Dedue back to him, Dedue voices his disapproval with a small “Claude!” But he’s smiling - laughing, almost - so the point isn’t made.

“What can I say? You’re a quick learner!” Claude quickens his pace.

Dedue adapts smoothly. “I...have surprised myself.”

Claude’s grin stretches till his lips part and reveal teeth. “Hey, me, too, man. You had me thinking you’d be falling all over me.”

Lifting his shoulders minutely, Dedue offers a small shrug. “I suppose after watching others struggle with finding their rhythm, I figured I would share the same strife.”

Delighted by the hidden quip, Claude barks out a laugh. That was such a hidden jab! Dedue is a hell of a lot more clever than he makes himself out to be, and in only a few moments together Claude is discovering this. He does not want this to be the last time he and Dedue interact, and makes it his mission to actively seek him out.

The song continues, and Claude and Dedue migrate around the floor. Claude refrains from spinning Dedue again, but he’s less worried about reigning in his feet, and steps freely with the knowledge that Dedue will follow. They dance close enough that Claude can feel the heat of Dedue’s skin bleed through his clothes, as well as the steady rise and fall of his chest. Craning his head up to watch his face, Claude notes Dedue’s eyes never quite settle. 

When it’s over, each couple steps back to bows to each other. Claude and Dedue do the same, and maybe Claude’s imagining it, but Dedue seems just as reluctant as he to pull his hands back. Claude won’t say anything, though, he’s hardly cruel enough to force another dance from Dedue - even if he’s positive he enjoyed it. This was certainly enough, and Claude is joyed to conclude that his wish at the Goddess Tower has already come to fruition. Not only did Dedue dance with him, he smiled and tipped dangerously close to laughing. If Claude can do that much with only this, he wonders what more he could pull from Dedue with further interaction.

After lifting his head, he offers Dedue thanks for the dance. Dedue responds softly in kind, before nodding his farewell, eyes tellingly stretching to Dimitri, where he will no doubt rush to fuss over him. The prince is accepting another glass from Sylvain, so Claude admits Dedue’s presence is, in fact, needed.

Before Claude has a chance to go looking for another partner, there’s a tap on his shoulder. He turns to find Hilda with an arched brow and cocked hip, holding out a hand for him to take. With a laugh, Claude does as he’s been wordlessly instructed, and shifts into position while waiting for the song to begin.

It does, and he and Hilda begin to float across the floor. As easy as it was getting accustomed to dancing with Dedue, dancing with Hilda is natural. Claude knows her well enough to predict her next ten steps before she makes them, and their movements fade together seamlessly. He can pull off spinning and dipping her, and does so with optimal flourish.

“So what was the deal with all that?” She asks once they’ve slowed.

“Whatever do you mean?” Claude drawls back.

She rolls her eyes, “Don’t play dumb, Claude, it doesn’t suit you.”

Claude appreciates the hidden compliment, so he answers with a one-shouldered shrug. “I asked him to dance and he said yes.”

“After the both of you disappeared for a while.” She narrows her eyes up at him. “I feel like you’re scheming something.”

Claude fakes an offended scoff. “Who, me? Nothing of the sort, it was just a matter of coincidence. We talked outside and I asked him to dance after. Why is that such a big deal?”

“You know why.” Her voice has dropped and softened at the edges. “It’s improper.”

Now, it’s Claude’s turn to roll his eyes, which he does after spinning Hilda and folding her back into his arms. “Since when have you cared about improper, Hil?”

“True.” She pouts her lips. “Well, whatever. Do what you want.”

The conversation then drifts to general gossip, where Hilda fills him in on general happenings around the monastery, dusted with juicy secrets and the like. Surely, all her time slacking off is spent accumulating such information, so it’s not necessarily wasted. Claude is a bit of a gossip only because Hilda’s a huge gossip, and she’s always rubbed off on him. Knowing things about people can be useful, but only if you don’t count them as absolute truth. For example, the details of Sylvain’s latest conquest are hardly absolute fact, but they do provide at least some insight. Claude listens and replies with what he knows in turn, and he and Hilda spend a good chunk of songs together this way. 

At some point, his thoughts drift back to Dedue. Sweeping his eyes around the hall, he does not discover him. Nor Dimitri, so Dedue must have taken him back to his room. It’s probably for the better, but Claude wishes Dedue would return. He won’t try and dance with him again, but he wants to talk more. 

“What?” Hilda interrupts his thoughts.

“Oh, nothing.”

She purposefully steps on his toe. “Pay attention.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Claude rights himself and turns entirely back to her.

He supposes he’ll just have to find him later.

* * *

ii.

The second time he sees Claude that week, Dedue is bent over in a pile of dirt. He sifts through it with bare hands, enjoying the earth under his palms, as he digs shallow holes to move a cluster of flowers into. He’s been alone for the better half of the morning, so when there’s a sudden prickle at the back of his neck like he’s being watched, he knows he is no longer by himself.

He turns over his shoulder to discover the object of many of his recent thoughts. The ball was a few evenings ago, and since then, his mind has been drifting back to it. To Claude, specifically, which is obviously ridiculous. It’s easy to feel special, chosen, when Claude seeks you out, but Dedue knows that the events that unfolded were simply a matter of coincidence. Claude is talented in making everyone feel like they are the only person he wants to be with… his charm and easy humor guarantee this. So Dedue has been actively trying not to read too much into it.

It’s not going very well.

“Hello.” He greets.

Claude approaches him and kneels at his side. He’s in his shirtsleeves, which is admittedly a very catching and unfamiliar image. The red drawstring is done up only halfway, drooping loosely to reveal collarbones and a peak of bare chest. There’s a beginning of thin, fuzzy hair there, obviously new.

“Hey,” he greets back. “You’re a hard man to find, y’know.”

Dedue furrows his brow, surprised to hear this. He’s usually at the training grounds with his Highness, so that is objectively untrue. Also, why has Claude been trying to find him? He settles on replying with, “Really?”

“Sure.” Claude begins rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. “You weren’t with his Princliness or in the kitchen earlier, so yeah.”

Dedue picks up a bundle of flowers delicately by its roots, and settles it in his dug hole. “I see.” He packs dirt in around the edges, filling in the gaps.

Claude hums lowly, reaching over to gently brush a fingertip over one petal. The pale blue contrasts his dark, olive skin, opening under his calloused thumb. His knuckles are thick with small, white scars that look like spun lace or spiderwebs, beneath thin, dark hair, that thickens at his wrist. “They’re pretty. What are they?”

“Just wildflowers. They grow commonly in Faerghus.” Dedue says. “They require little maintenance, as they’re self sustaining, but they weren’t getting enough sunlight where they were previously planted.”

Withdrawing his hand, Claude moves to press more dirt around the edges, helping Dedue plant them more firmly. “I grew up next to this huge field of wildflowers.” He says, as a tendril of hair falls to obscure his face “Over a giant cluster of hills. It went as far as you could see, and all the flowers were different colors, so when you looked out on it it was like a sea of purples and greens and oranges and pinks, but you couldn’t really tell when one color stopped and the other began. ‘S unreal, like a painting.” 

His hands stilled in the dirt, Dedue watches Claude from the corner of his eye. His eyes gleam the nebulous color of an ocean, almost blue, almost green, under a curtain of dense eyelashes. Curls frame his heavy brow. He looks unlike anyone Dedue has ever seen, and he is spectacular. 

“I thought Leicester was mostly flat.” Dedue says.

Looking over at him, Claude gives up a tight-lipped smile. 

Claude seems like the kind of person to carry a secret well. It’s only because Dedue is in the habit of paying very close attention to people that he notices Claude may be hiding something. Everything about him has been smoothed out, evened, as to be acceptable and palatable by those around him. Dedue notices this also because he recognizes that in himself. Dedue has no secrets of his own, only things he chooses not to say. He sees that in Claude, and assumes there is something more lingering under the surface.

Why has Claude come to him now? Why was he looking for him? It doesn’t seem like he wants something from him, but Dedue isn’t sure. He’s confused and intrigued alike.

Once finished with replanting the flowers, Dedue rises to fetch his watering pail and begin making rounds. Claude follows behind him, making comments about the plants as they go. At a thicket of Gloucester roses, Claude smiles fondly, delicately tracing up a stem to avoid pricking his finger. They are one of the only Leicester plants in the greenhouse, tended after not only by Dedue but sometimes Lorenz. Dedue would never admit it aloud, but it does bother him a bit that Lorenz always takes a fresh bloom to pin to his lapel - to inevitably die later. They’re his family’s flowers, and will always grow back… The tradition of picking flowers to wear or give away has never made sense to Dedue, but that’s to be expected considering the cultural barrier. In Duscur, plants were to be admired when alive, respected as they were born from earth. Isn’t it a bit greedy, to rob them of survival because they are beautiful? In any event, Dedue tries not to judge people here for having different customs than him, that’s hardly fair or right. So he cares for the flowers left behind.

“May I ask why you’ve come here?” He surprises himself by inquiring. He’s been wondering it the entire time Claude has been with him in the greenhouse, but he didn’t think he’d say anything.

Behind him, Claude has folded his hands behind his head. When he shrugs, the fabric around his shoulders tightens and bunches. “I like flowers as much as the next guy.” He pauses. “Also, I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

Claude shrugs again. “Just in general. That okay?”

Well, of course it is. Dedue just can’t remember the last time someone who wasn't the Professor or the Prince actively sought him out. At least, it feels that way. It’s not that his classmates dislike him, most seem to care for him as much as each other, but he’s never the object of anyone’s search. If someone is looking for him, they’re usually looking for Dimitri.

“Yes.” Dedue hands the watering pail to Claude. “Can you finish watering, then? I am going to start pruning some shrubs.”

Claude accepts the can with a few blinks. “Sure, no problem.” 

Taking up a pair of shears, Dedue approaches the rose bush to clean it up around the corners. He does his best to keep as much as possible, but in a reserved space such as this, he has to cut back more than otherwise. Thankfully, the blossoms are easily avoidable, and it’s only pieces of green that fall around his feet. Beneath the blades, the bush takes shape once more, smoothed and rounded into perfection. Dedue cuts with precise movements, one hand steadied in the opposite palm to keep everything even.

When he glances over at Claude, he finds him with the watering tin tipped completely over a patch of fresh dirt, soaking it through.

“Don’t overwater.” Dedue quickly commands, before shortening the distance between the two of them with a few strides. He reaches beneath Claude’s wrist and lifts it gently, forcing the can upward, so the rain is less intense. “You’ll drown them that way.” 

Claude looks at him with his lips slightly agape, full and glistening like he’d been biting them. “Ah, sorry. I don’t really come here that often.”

“That’s alright.” With a hand now under the tin, Dedue tips it all the way up, so water is no longer falling. “It’s an easy mistake. Only a little bit will sustain most of these plants, as they’re native to Fódlan. It doesn’t rain very often here, so plants don’t need much water.”

Proving Dedue’s previous assumption correct, Claude worries his lower lip between his teeth. His canine is noticeably sharper than the rest. “That makes sense.”

“Gardening is not as complex as it’s made out to be.” Dedue’s lips quirk up softly. He thinks of teaching his younger sister to tend to the herb garden outside his childhood home, and her tendency to be overly rough. “The nature of plants makes it so they are able to survive without human intervention. When we place them in unnatural habitats, it is not our job to make them live, but to foster an environment in which they can do so naturally.” Once he’s done speaking, he realizes he’s still touching Claude’s wrist, and pulls back like he’s been burned, ashamed. Claude obviously didn’t mind, but it’s instinct. 

“That’s awfully profound.” Claude twists up an eyebrow.

Dedue shuffles his gaze away. “...Hardly. I’m simply overly familiar with these things.”

Claude heaves the watering pail and shifts to the next plant, watering much more sparsely this time. “There are worse things to be familiar with.”

Dedue could go back to the bush now, seeing as Claude has corrected himself, but he lingers. “I agree. I think it would do many people good to learn how to grow things, instead of just destroy and kill.”

Looking over his shoulder, Claude’s eyes sharpen under a thread of yellow sunlight. His cheeks dimple with a grin. “Oh, man. You can’t just say stuff like that and claim not to be profound.”

Dedue flushes and scratches a hand over the back of his neck, leaving grains of dirt under his shirt collar.

Claude looks back to the ground. “I mean this in the best possible way, but I feel like you weren’t cut out for this sort of life.”

Although Claude claimed no offense, Dedue cannot suppress the small, uncomfortable twinge under his breastbone. It’s impossible to discern exactly Claude’s meaning - but Dedue immediately assumes he means he wasn’t supposed to live among nobles. Although, that doesn’t seem like something Claude would say…

When Dedue offers nothing in response, Claude barrels on, “I only mean… I don’t know. You like stuff like gardening and cooking. I’m pretty sure you even embroider. And you point out the importance of taking care of stuff instead of just mindlessly killing it. You’re just… a nice guy. I get the feeling if it wasn’t for Dimitri, you wouldn’t wanna fight anything. But you do it for him.”

The twinge in his chest deepens and sharpens until it is a precise stab of cold through his heart, down to the pit of his gut. The worst part is that Claude isn’t necessarily wrong, but it’s more complicated than he describes it as. But after living in Faerghus and then Fódlan for so long, he’s used to people expecting him to be especially brutish or violent, because that’s what all Duscari are. But Claude  _ doesn’t _ , yet he still thinks he’s out of place for entirely different reasons. It stings but Dedue is not offended. 

Claude wets his lips with the pink tip of his tongue. “I’m not judging, or anything.”

With a sigh, Dedue spreads his hands and looks down at them. They’re speckled with deep brown dirt, not unlike the color of his skin, but darker compared to his pale palms. “Perhaps.” Dedue ventures. “But whether or not I was cut out for this, it’s what’s been presented to me, so I have no choice but to endure.”

Claude looks over. “That’s true. And pretty wise.”

Dedue doesn’t think of himself as wise. After all, he’s had an entire lifetime to live inside his head and sort through what’s going on in there. And he’s got a lot more to get through. It’s not wisdom, just a basic understanding of his circumstances. Nonetheless, he appreciates Claude’s sincerity. 

It’s that sincerity that urges him to speak further, knowing Claude will listen without ridicule or misunderstanding. “Before, I lived very humbly. My father was a blacksmith. Our home was maybe only a bit larger than this greenhouse. And I was happy there.” Dedue approaches the nearest plant to run his fingers over one furling leaf. “There were peaceful times, at least where we lived. I thought I would grow up and be like my father, and hopefully never face war. To tell the truth, as a child, I hated the idea of violence. In our - my culture, it was thought of differently than here. But that has been skewed by outside perception and stereotypes. So, I think you are right. Certainly, this isn’t the life I envisioned for myself. Regardless, I am not unhappy. I’ve found new purpose in fighting for his Highness. I believe in him.”

There’s a shuffle over the greenhouse’s dirt floor as Claude crosses over to him, clutching the watering tin to set down at his feet, once he’s before Dedue. With a gritty hand, he touches Dedue’s arm, only barely. Being so openly acknowledged, Dedue suddenly colors with realization at the fountain of words he just spewed. He has never spoken so freely - especially with someone he only knows distantly. It’s not as though he said anything worthy of shame, but… but.

Claude is looking at him like he sees right through him, but it’s more comforting than unnerving. Dedue knows Claude does not judge him, but he doesn’t know why. Certainly, other people are good at swallowing their tongues and pretending they aren’t wary of Dedue - but Dedue can always tell. There is no hint of that with Claude, who gives almost as much as he takes, expression naked and open. 

The earth covered hand leaves his arm and finds his jaw. Dedue’s eyes strain to look at it, but his vision is quickly obscured as Claude moves in, dragging him down with strong fingers. Dedue’s heart leaps from his chest to the back of his throat, because Claude is  _ upon  _ him, mouth to mouth. Dedue feels the outline of each full lip, wet and worn from being bitten, quirked up at the edges in a smile. It takes a good few seconds for Dedue to register that he is being kissed, because in what universe was he ever supposed to anticipate such a thing? Pulse fluttering in his ears, thrumming under his skin like residual electricity, he has no clue what to do, still struggling to piece this into some sort of sense. What he  _ does _ know is that he doesn’t dislike it; that he doesn’t want it to stop. His heart is beating so fast he feels sick with it, air punched from his lungs, but it’s good. Claude smells like clove and bowstring wax, as well as fresh dirt, and his hand is warm and heavy over Dedue’s cheek. His mouth opens and he exhales softly against Dedue’s skin, buzzing with life. 

When he drops back from his tiptoes onto his heels, he’s flushed and grinning.

“Um.” Dedue says intelligently.

“Sorry, I probably should’ve asked first.” Claude fiddles with his braid. “I just really wanted to do that.”

“That’s - it’s… okay.” Dedue clears his throat into a fist. Although they are no longer kissing, his pulse is still racing. He breathes thickly through his nose. “Um.”

Claude laughs impishly. “Oh, yeah? Does that mean I can do it again?”

Dedue glances around. There is no one else present, but he feels on edge with the possibility that there  _ could  _ be. Claude has split him open and exposed him to the world, and he doesn’t necessarily trust himself enough to let him do so again out in the open. “Perhaps not here.”

Running his tongue over his teeth under his lip, Claude nods. “I can work with that.”

* * *

iii.

Claude agrees to have tea with the Professor and thinks about Dedue the entire time. Because it’s only been a day since he kissed him in the greenhouse, he figures it’s fair that he’s still on his mind. That was a surprise as much to himself as it was to Dedue, who he has never seen so shocked and flustered. Claude just sort of  _ did it _ , because it felt right in the moment and he wanted to. There was very little forethought, and admittedly he’s quite lucky it didn’t go badly as a result. Typically, he rakes very delicately through his thoughts before he spins them into actions, so this was uncharacteristic of him. Maybe even a bit self destructive. In any event, it hardly matters, because Dedue kissed him back (clumsily) and flushed from forehead to collar while saying he could do it again. Claude’s mind keeps flashing back to the tiny hitch in Dedue’s breath when their mouths met, the tension of his fists curled at his sides, like he wanted to reach out but was holding himself back. Claude wants to unravel all the rigidity from his muscles kiss by kiss, take him apart and let him sew himself back up again. He wants Dedue to want him… not because he’s so selfish, but because he thinks Dedue deserves desiring something for himself.

Also, he’s a little selfish.

“You seem lost in thought.” The professor points out over the porcelain lip of their cup. Steam curls before their face, shrouding them and making them even more enigmatic than usual. “What’s on your mind, Claude?”

Claude leans back on his chair, tipping it onto its back legs. “Not much. Just the usual, I suppose.” He rotates his hand at the wrist, giving a little flourish. 

He can’t tell if Teach doesn’t buy it, or is just without an opinion. Their face remains characteristically flat and impassive. They take a long sip. “How are your studies?”

So the conversation goes. Claude is good at weaving pointless discussion, small talk and the like. The professor usually asks him the same questions every time they meet, but Claude feels bad giving the same responses, so he tries to answer honestly. Although they’re his teacher, he feels comfortable enough with them to be not only truthful, but forthcoming. Sometimes he has to convince himself he’s not a pathological liar, and having tea with Teach is a good way to do so. 

He’s not  _ that _ caught up in it, it’s just easy to keep to yourself, to become isolated, especially when you’ve a secret. He does his best to drop little hints so that when it does come out (which it inevitably will) he can claim he was never really hiding it. He makes quips like  _ I’m obviously not from here _ . But that could mean a multitude of things. Sure, he’s not from Fódlan, he’s from Leicester. But the implication and punchline is obviously his appearance, which people have always eyed curiously. When he sees Cyril, living through the same circumstances without the blanket of mystery, he wants so badly to talk with him, but he can’t make himself. Not really. 

So, that’s that. When they’re through with discussing academic matters, they turn to battle strategy. Teach pours him a second cup of tea and watches him drink it, being done with their own. It’s a little disconcerting, but Claude knows they just like making sure their gifts are well received. He thanks them, and makes his leave once they’ve reached an agreeable stopping point.

The weather is surprisingly agreeable for Fódlan, crisp but penetrated by the shining sun with no clouds blocking the way. There isn’t a breeze, which is usually the worst part. Claude strolls through the monastery and takes his time with it, not feeling rushed by the cold. Along the way, he greets each familiar face he sees, and even stops to chat with a few of them. It’s a good day so far, and he anticipates it’s about to get better.

Dedue isn’t in the greenhouse this time, so Claude tries the training grounds. This is successful, as he’s greeted with Dedue and Dimitri sparring playfully, not seeming to take it very seriously but visibly having fun. They seem like good friends, and not… whatever they are. Claude thinks they really  _ are _ friends, with a special complicated twist. It’s nice to see them acting more like the former, which he suspects would be the natural progression of their relationship if things were different.

Being as engrossed as he is, Dedue doesn’t greet him. That responsibility goes to Leonie, who is also there, sweating sheets and lugging a rickety practice sword behind her. A few dummies are leaking straw from their guts, evidence of her time well spent. She’s out of her uniform, wearing shirtsleeves and trousers typical for men, which makes it so she occupies space much more comfortably than usual. Typically, she kind of shrinks herself into her skirt - Claude can tell. The training grounds are her element, and now she’s gleaming with exertion and satisfaction both.

“Hey,” She greets, mopping sweat from her brow. “Wanna spar?”

“Ah, not right now.” Claude lifts a hand. “I’ll hold you up on that offer, though.”

She looks over her shoulder then, over to Dimitri and Dedue. Claude must have been looking over there subconsciously - oops. “You here for Dimitri?” She asks, “Lord stuff?” There’s only a stitch of contempt there. 

Claude cards the hair from his face. “Nope. I need Dedue for something.”

Her brows raise. “Oh, alright. I won’t keep you.”

The fight continues to go, close enough to be nothing but a glint of steel and clamor of blades to a common onlooker. Dimitri typically uses a lance, Dedue an axe, but they both fight with swords now. Both of their movements are less smooth and practiced than usual as a result, but they’re keeping pace well. Claude, not being a close combat fighter, watches with impressed ignorance. The way Dedue wields his weapon, he’s gotta be pretty strong. Dimitri too, but Claude isn’t here for him. No offense to the guy, but. Well, anyway. 

Claude isn’t noticed until they’re done. He was content observing, so he’s hardly upset. Dimitri’s sword lays in the dirt, having been knocked from his hand, marking the end of the battle. Both participants are breathing heavily, hair in disarray, clothing rumpled, and faces dappled with sweat. Dimitri is bright red. He doesn’t seem disappointed about having lost, as he laughs and claps Dedue on the shoulder and congratulates him on a job well done.

“Oh, hello, Claude.” He says when he glances over. Dedue goes a little stiff. “Can I help you with something?”

“Nothing at all, your Princliness.” He bows theatrically at the waist, sweeping back up and shaking the hair from his face. “At least not now, but I’ll be back if that changes.” He winks.

Dedue coughs, readjusting his locs into their little tail at the nape of his neck. “If you don’t mind, your Highness…” he steps in Claude’s direction.

Dimitri’s spine straightens, surprised. “Oh! Of course not, please.” He steps back and extends a hand outward, motioning Dedue forward.

With a nod, Dedue steps past him, and joins Claude at his side.

“Seeya ‘round, Dimitri.” Claude calls over his shoulder, starting for the exit. 

Dedue does the same thing he did the night of the ball, where he lingers a few steps behind as they walk. Claude makes a point out of slowing down, just like he did then, and Dedue actually lets him, this go around. He’s still preening himself a bit, adjusting his earring and smoothing the lapels of his jacket. It’s very cute.

Outside, he audibly breathes in the fresh air, which is no longer weighed down by the stench of sweat and mineral oil.

Claude tells Dedue he was on his way to the library to pick up some books, does he want to come? Considering Dedue is already going along with him, it’s not surprising when he agrees. They walk close enough that their knuckles brush, and Claude is electrified by the simple, accidental intimacy. Of course, it’s not  _ entirely _ accidental, but it’s the thought that counts. Claude thinks about kissing some more, which has been on his mind pretty consistently. 

He doesn’t really get crushes often. And yes, he’s officially dipped into that territory, but only the very tip of one little toe. It doesn’t have to be a full-on crush, just a thing he likes to do. Regardless, he isn’t the type to devote himself and his feelings exclusively to one thing, much less one person. He naturally shies away from emotional commitment, which he’s introspective enough to recognize as a coping mechanism. The last huge crush he remembers having was when he was around thirteen, when everything felt all the more intense. He was very new in Leicester then, still used to Almyran views and customs… in Almyra, he had already transitioned, but he was once again presented as a girl in Leicester - where same sex couples were not a thing. So, when he, thought to be female, tried to initiate romance with a girl, it didn’t go well. It went very badly, in fact. Now, everytime he thinks he might have feelings for someone, it’s like poking a bruise. 

Everyone knows he’s a guy, these days. Most don’t know there was ever a time when he wasn’t considered as such. So it’s kind of ironic that once he’s where he needs to be, where it’d be acceptable to like a girl again, he goes for the exact opposite.

Oh, well. Actually, he’s not that worried about it. What are they gonna do? Kick him out of the academy and rev up a political scandal? Sure, maybe. But everyone’s got skeletons in their closets, and Claude is willing to ride the wave till times change. He’s not sure how exactly, but with Dimitri, Edelgard, and himself lined up for leadership, surely things will be different in the future. 

He looks over at Dedue. They’re not talking, but the silence isn’t awkward. So Claude takes advantage to analyze him a little… Dedue didn’t react badly when they kissed, so maybe he’s not entrenched in this part of the continent’s ignorance as Claude suspected he might be. Maybe his apprehension about Dimitri is just the life-debt, Prince thing.

The library is mostly empty, save for Linhardt who’s sleeping sprawled over a table, head in a book. Claude tiptoes around him not to wake him, before picking up one of his tomes and dropping it down with a loud  _ thud. _

He starts awake with a disoriented snort, quickly looking around, before rubbing a hand over the imprint of a book’s cover etched into his cheek. “Eugh..”

“Good morning.” Claude greets him with a grin.

Linhardt sends him a withering glare. “Oh, piss off.”

Claude laughs, and leaves Linhardt back to his clearly important nap. Dedue is giving him an unreadable look when he turns back to him, almost like amusement but not quite there, like he’s suppressing it. Claude will gladly ring it out of him yet. 

  
  


The library is one of Claude’s favorite places. He spends quite a good amount of time here, sorting through volumes on politics, strategy, history, and fiction alike. There are even a few books written in different languages, and he’s gone through each in Almyran plenty of times. Once, he even stumbled across one in Duscari, tucked away in a back corner. It was a fairytale, or at least looked that way, with gilded pages and colorful illustrations. He wonders if Dedue knows it’s here, or if it would be weird to point it out to him.

For now, he approaches a shelf to thumb through the fiction section. This is his favorite category, but the only one considered an indulgence. He’s heralded as well read, but usually in reference to boring, factual stuff. Currently he just wants something exciting and captivating to read. Most of his options are different spins on the same story, a chivalric knight looking to prove himself through valor in battle or a series of quests or romance with a princess. They’re fun in a trite way, but he wonders if he could find something else.

When he weaves between a set of shelves, away from the open area and tables, he finds Dedue looking through the rows himself. His expression has grown hard and serious, like he’s concentrating all of his focus into reading the titles written over each spine. 

“You like to read?” Claude asks him, picking up a book to flip through it mindlessly.

Dedue moves his shoulders in a small shrug. “I don’t often have the time, but yes. I used to read quite frequently, but it’s been a while.”

“Well, if you want recommendations, I’ve got plenty.” Putting the book back, Claude moves over closer and picks up another. 

He does this a few times until he’s right at Dedue’s side, who is still reading the first page of something, wearing his concentrated expression. Claude peaks over his shoulder to peer down at the text, written in shining navy ink and spiraling script, making it a bit difficult to read. The book is a huge, dusty thing, with a thick cover and thin pages. It looks like a beast to get through, but Dedue flips the page like he’s already intrigued.

Claude’s heart is pounding. That’s silly, isn’t it, that just standing next to him is enough to make him nervous? Well, it’s not the standing that’s doing it - it’s the knowledge that in a moment, he’ll be doing something else.

Placing his hand over Dedue’s on the book, he’s gifted with Dedue’s gaze shifting over to him, brow wrinkled. His hand falls away, to come back and settle on the dip of Dedue’s waist. This seems to be when he gets it, because his ears turn red and he clenches his jaw in preparation. Claude cannot help but laugh lightly, a breathy chuckle as he lifts himself onto his tiptoes - damn Dedue for being so tall, by the way. Thankfully, Dedue helps him by tipping his head downward, and they meet.

This time, Dedue hesitantly settles a hand on one of Claude’s shoulders, a heavy palm curling over the base of his neck. Claude strains to push himself further up, molding their mouths together until he feels the slight bite of Dedue’s teeth. He inhales through his nose and closes a fist in Dedue’s jacket, tugging him closer until he stumbles into it, parting his lips to close them between Dedue’s, chin tilting to press as close as he can go, before twisting the other way to attempt the same from another angle. He kisses in short pulses, one after the other, never separating, until his jaw starts to ache. Then he opens his mouth to spread Dedue’s lips with his own, and teases his tongue inside, gifted with a hitch in breath. Dedue kisses clumsily, slowly, but with spirit. Fingers curl in the hair at the back of Claude’s neck, holding him in place.

When they separate, Dedue’s plush lips are glistening. Still, he purses and wets them all with his tongue, and Claude instantly regrets withdrawing because he wants to tug on his bottom lip with his teeth and trace his tongue over the tender inside. That’s enough for now though, because he doesn’t want to push without talking more. Still, Dedue’s huge hand is burning a hole through his neck, and Claude wants to feel his touch  _ everywhere  _ \- so, enough of that, before it gets out of control.

“Why - why are you doing this?” Dedue asks.

It takes Claude a few moments to piece together the question before he can answer, which is admittedly not very helpful: “What do you mean?”

Dedue glances around, like he’s afraid someone will walk over. He drops his hand. “Why do you want to… do this with me?”

That was what Claude thought he meant, but he stuck his own question for clarification in there to give him time to sort out an answer. The truth is, he doesn’t really know. Of course, he likes Dedue, he’s always liked him - he’s a good guy - but there are plenty of good guys out there. Plenty of attractive good guys. So what’s different about him? Who knows. There’s just this  _ thing _ about him that draws Claude in, makes him want to pull him apart at the seams and discover all of his insides. He wants to know what makes him up, and use that knowledge to make him smile and laugh. He wants, simply, to know him. 

So he says, “Why wouldn’t I? I just do. I like you.” He traces one finger over the lapel of Dedue’s jacket, watching himself, before looking back up at him. “Is that okay?”

“I - yes.” A muscle in Dedue’s jaw twitches, but he doesn’t look upset. “I’m just trying to understand.”

“Maybe it’s okay to just go with it without getting it, you know what I mean?” Claude suggests, playing with a button.

“I do.” Dedue’s jaw unclenches and the rest of his face evens. “Thank you.”

How serious! Claude can’t help but laugh. It’s charming how critically Dedue seems to be taking this whole ordeal - always to extremes, with this one. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Yes, but I will anyway.” Dedue slowly reaches out and settles a stray curl away from Claude’s forehead. Claude feels like his heart is in his stomach, because then he  _ smiles _ , real and bright. There are little parentheses creases around his mouth, and Claude desperately wants to kiss them. And make him smile more, so they deepen and linger. 

“Then I accept.” Claude smiles back. He takes Dedue’s hand and brings it to his mouth, pressing a kiss between two knuckles. “And offer my own thanks in return.”

He can only hope this thing between them will continue, because he’s not stupid enough to ignore that he’s invested now. Well, damn. Might as well make the best of it. 

* * *

_End_.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
> visit me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/augenbblck) and talk abt claudue with me please


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